


Something Just Like This

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, Conversations, Fucking, Future Fic, Kissing, M/M, Summer Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 22:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11564499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: In the wake of Japan being eliminated from medal contention, Ushijima doesn't know how to feel. He mostly feels like he's not feeling anything. He's back at the courtyard outside the volleyball dorms but he doesn't go inside yet. He looks out at nothing: and then something resolves itself into his vision—Oikawa, sitting on a bench across the courtyard. Possibly, judging from the way he's sitting, not feeling anything either. Or maybe feeling too much.





	Something Just Like This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ioo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ioo/gifts).



> Written for SASO 2017, Bonus Round 4. Title borrowed from The Chainsmokers & Coldplay.

So, as the kids say—and Ushijima, strangely, thinks of the kids from the concrete (not that they were here, not that things would have been different, necessarily, if they had been; but this feels like something they might say)—that happened.

He doesn't know how to feel right now. He mostly feels like he's not feeling anything. Even at three in the morning, the paths in Tokyo's Olympic Village are lit, at least all the ones Ushijima has been up and down. He's back at the courtyard outside the volleyball dorms but he doesn't go inside yet. He looks out at nothing: and then something resolves itself into his vision—Oikawa, sitting on a bench across the courtyard. Possibly, judging from the way he's sitting, not feeling anything either. Or maybe feeling too much. 

There's more than enough blame to go around the entire team, and around again. Oikawa may have lost them match point with that failed joust, but he did not lose them the match. That's what Ushijima intends to tell him, even though he's sure Oikawa already knows that.

But then, as he gets closer, as Oikawa does not move, does not lift his head from his hands even though he must sense Ushijima's approach, Ushijima is not so sure of what Oikawa does and does not know. 

He hesitates when he reaches Oikawa, and into the space Ushijima has left, Oikawa says, "Twenty-two service errors." Oikawa rubs his hands over his face as he raises it. He looks Ushijima in the eye. "Two aces, and twenty-two fucking service errors."

You don't win matches with that, and Ushijima wants to nod, but he only holds Oikawa's gaze.

Then he says, "Do you want to hate-fuck me?"

It's not what he came over to say, but he doesn't regret saying it. Not until Oikawa's head moves back without losing eye contact and he looks at Ushijima like Ushijima has just hurt him somehow. It's not the wounded affectation he puts on sometimes; there's something real about the look—but it's gone before Ushijima can study it. 

"No." Oikawa breaks the gaze at last.

"My last serve was one of the errors," Ushijima says. "I put them at match point."

Oikawa shakes his head. It's an indisputable fact of the match: Ushijima put too much on the serve and it went long. So Ushijima can't figure out what the head shake means.

Then Oikawa says, "You were going for it," and Ushijima gets that Oikawa is not angry about all the service errors, just the ones that went into the net. Oikawa rubs the back of his neck. "I can't—I wouldn't have wanted anyone but you at the service line."

Ushijima thinks they'd have been better off with Oikawa at the service line, but Oikawa turns his head and as he does, Ushijima realizes he's been unintentionally looming over Oikawa. He crouches down wordlessly.

Oikawa's gaze slides to him sidelong, glances off, then comes back as he shifts to orient his body towards Ushijima. "I'm not a child."

"No," Ushijima agrees; and then, realizing Oikawa is referring to the crouch, he adds, "It's that I'm a subject."

"A subject of what—oh." A look of mild disgust crosses Oikawa's face as he makes the connection but the disgust doesn't reach Ushijima, and he wonders if it was, for some reason, directed inwards. "You don't want—don't you consider yourself to be a king as well?"

"That's only for setters."

Oikawa snorts, but doesn't deny anything. He straightens more, runs his fingers through his hair as he turns his head, face tipped up towards what stars are visible through the Tokyo haze. "Is that so." He lets his hand drop, turns back to Ushijima. "Surely you're a member of the royal court, though." 

His gaze, focused though not narrowed, expects a response, and Ushijima takes some moments to consider his. "I thought the jester, maybe. But you already have one. Or you did, even if you went separate ways out of middle school. He's a king himself now." Even in this light, Ushijima can see Oikawa's expression darken, but he doesn't wait for that darkness to take the shape of words in Oikawa's mouth. "So then, who makes you laugh anymore? Who makes you smile?"

As Oikawa turns away again, Ushijima thinks his rushed and unconsidered words have only added to Oikawa's dark mood. But then Oikawa moves over, gesturing for Ushijima to sit on the bench too. 

They sit in silence. Ushijima has not been pushed away (Oikawa uses words—clever and too clever—for pushing away; Ushijima is unfamiliar with his silences and isn't sure what this one means, but he doesn't feel pushed away) so he keeps sitting there.

The depth of Oikawa's breath signals the start of a new conversation. "Was your dad at the match?"

Ushijima shakes his head. "He's coming for the quarter-finals." Which Japan will not be in, but there's no need to say so and Ushijima doesn't.

The unspoken knowledge hangs in the air anyhow, and Oikawa turns away with a soft _"fuck."_ A stylized, crooked grin is in place when he looks back at Ushijima: "Maybe _you're_ the one who wants to hate-fuck _me_."

"No."

Ushijima isn't going to look away, and it seems Oikawa isn't either. The moment stretches to the breaking point; digs down deep and finds the strength to elongate even more. 

Oikawa moistens his lips. "You can..."

"I don't want to hate-fuck you." 

A new grin flashes across Oikawa's face, there and gone in the same breath. "I know. You can do what you're thinking of."

Oikawa doesn't move. He doesn't flinch when Ushijima reaches out; when Ushijima touches his face, Oikawa's lashes sweep down, lips parting as he moistens them again.

Ushijima moistens his own lips and, daring to linger a fraction of a second longer to look at Oikawa like this, moves closer; closes his eyes and closes the distance, guided by his hand on Oikawa's face. 

He feels Oikawa's breath, and knows Oikawa must be feeling his as well. Ushijima shifts his touch, letting his hand slip down and around to cup the side of Oikawa's neck, fingers following the curve so his fingertips rest against Oikawa's nape. Instinctively Ushijima rubs against the tightened muscles he finds—unexpectedly, though he realizes he should have expected the tightness here—digging in until Oikawa sighs.

Ushijima sighs too, sending his breath ahead of him as moves to touch Oikawa's mouth with his own.

Their lips find a fit with each other and rest dovetailed. When Ushijima feels Oikawa's part against him, he accepts the invitation, brushing the tip of his tongue along Oikawa's upper lip, curling inside, slipping in deeper. 

Ushijima sighs again and Oikawa swallows it, not so much purposefully as reflexively; Ushijima feels the way his breath rolls through Oikawa by the way Oikawa's fingertips flutter against Ushijima's bicep, feels it in the way Oikawa moves in and opens up to receive more...

It's too early, too fast for this sort of play, though, and Ushijima pulls back. Not away, just backing off enough that Oikawa breathes his own breath before Ushijima goes into Oikawa's mouth again, invites Oikawa into his, trading unhurried, exploratory licks.

Ushijima searches Oikawa's face when they part. It might be his imagination, but he thinks there's a color to Oikawa's face that wasn't there before. 

As he looks at Ushijima, Oikawa traces his own lower lip with his thumb. "Ushiwaka is an unexpectedly good kisser."

"I have a lot of fans." Ushijima can see, by the way Oikawa is looking at him, that Oikawa doesn't know what to make of that. "Anyhow," Ushijima says, deciding not to give Oikawa too much time with it, "how did you know that was what I wanted to do?"

Oikawa grins, points at Ushijima's hand. "The way your fingers curled. I've been watching your hands for a while now, and I know what they're saying. I know when you want the ball—I mean, you _always_ want the ball, but I can see when you _need_ it and when you're okay with it going to certain specific other players on any given play. Not that I take that into consideration when I set," he clarifies unnecessarily. 

Of course Ushijima knows that. Even before Oikawa said so, Ushijima already knew Oikawa doesn't always pass him the ball when he really wants it, and he knows Oikawa is always making the call he thinks is best for the team—

He didn't mean to think specifically of the final play in the last match but it came to him anyhow, and it seems it came to Oikawa too:

"I thought I could get away with that push," Oikawa says quietly. He drops the gaze, stands up, his back to Ushijima. "I thought they were expecting me to let them have it and to go for a dig instead..." He trails off. "But that push is what they were expecting, and they pushed back, and—"

His words cut off sharply. His next breath is choked, barely making it out, and Ushijima sees what's coming, and he's there, standing in front of Oikawa, giving Oikawa something to hold onto as the frustration overwhelms him, shakes his body, spills out of him.

Oikawa doesn't apologize when he pulls back. He wipes the back of his sleeve across his eyes and looks at Ushijima and doesn't apologize, and Ushijima doesn't want him to.

"So," Oikawa says. Light laughter to distract from the shakiness of his voice, though they both know Ushijima is not distracted. "About that hate-fuck."

He offers a grin. This one, Ushijima will not accept, not even out of politeness. He looks at Oikawa steadily. "I'm not going to fuck you when you hate yourself."

Oikawa's grin fades, peels off, drifts away on the night breeze. He doesn't put on a new expression. He stands there looking at Ushijima looking at him; stands there, raw, looking at Ushijima...

"But. You _are_ going to fuck me. Right?"

_As you wish._

Ushijima nods.

When his roommates left earlier in the evening, they told him not to expect them back for the night, and that's what Ushijima tells Oikawa now. They don't talk as they walk to his room. Ushijima glances over a few times, aware Oikawa feels the gaze every time he does it, letting Oikawa have that.

They don't kiss again until they're in Ushijima's room, lying on his bed, the door locked behind them. Oikawa doesn't initiate anything but he's receptive to every kiss, to every touch—especially the touches, arching and shifting to get more of the ones he wants. And Ushijima gives him every touch he wants.

"Hey, Ushiwaka, listen." Oikawa sits up suddenly. "I'm in charge on the court, right?" He looks at Ushijima, and whatever he sees when their eyes meet makes his gaze snap away, his head turning to keep up. He keeps speaking: "But I don't want to be in charge right now. I really, really don't want to be in charge right now, okay?"

Ushijima looks at Oikawa not looking at him. He looks at Oikawa sitting there, sitting right there and making no move to leave; Ushijima looks at him and listens to him breathing, and hears all the words that Oikawa can't or won't say. There are some who would make Oikawa say the words, but Ushijima is not one of those.

He can do this for Oikawa. He'll do anything, and he can do this.

"Okay," he says.

When Oikawa looks at him, Ushijima says, "If I'm in charge, then I want you to get up and take your clothes off." 

"All right." Oikawa stands up on the bed. Even if Oikawa didn't catch Ushijima's anxious edges just now, Ushijima still expects him to gaze down with that sharp, narrowed gaze Ushijima has seen him use when he's—well, when he's looking down on someone. 

Oikawa pulls his shirt off and tosses it to the floor, and rests his hands at the waistband of his national team tracksuit trousers, and looks at Ushijima with open, soft-focused eyes. 

Ushijima holds the gaze. Breathes in it and sees Oikawa breathing in it too, the easy rise and fall of his chest... 

It seems to Ushijima that Oikawa isn't so much looking at him right now, as watching him watch. He hasn't moved, except with those breaths. Ushijima shifts, slipping a hand inside his own tracksuit trousers to give his cock a comforting squeeze. 

Oikawa takes a deeper breath, lets it out slowly.

Ushijima falls out of the mutual gaze, letting his own slide down over Oikawa's torso to his hands. As soon as Ushijima's gaze settles on them, Oikawa's hands move, pushing the waistband past his hips, past his cock; down until gravity takes over and he steps out of one leg, kicks free of the other. He straightens and stands there, accepting Ushijima's gaze.

And gaze Ushijima does. He's never been able to look at Oikawa like this before. More than looking at him naked: looking at Oikawa as much as he wants to. Oikawa is beautiful. His body is perfectly toned, perfectly symmetrical. His cock, full and flushed, is exactly proportionate to his perfect body, his cock is so unbelievably beautiful—

But Oikawa's cock has nothing on the beauty of Oikawa's face. As Ushijima looks at Oikawa like this, something he can't name washes through him. He doesn't know if it's something that can properly be called an emotion, but he doesn't know what else it could be; he wonders if anyone can name it or if it's unnamed, unnameable.

Oikawa's lashes flutter shut, and Ushijima feels himself breathing again, though of course he's been breathing all along.

He sits up to take off his shirt. Even though Oikawa must guess that's what he's doing, he keeps his eyes closed. When Ushijima finishes undressing, he reaches out to touch Oikawa's ankle, rubbing his thumb over the spur. Oikawa looks at him and Ushijima says, "Come here."

Oikawa kneels, then lies down as Ushijima lies back. He's shaking. Ushijima couldn't see it but he can feel it now with Oikawa's body against his. Ushijima knows it's not that Oikawa is cold, but he says anyhow, "Do you want to get under the covers?" 

Too late, as Oikawa glances away, Ushijima realizes this might be a transgression against Oikawa's one condition: that he not have to be in charge of himself or anything else right now.

"No," Oikawa says. His gaze falls on Ushijima's face as he looks back. He doesn't seem frustrated or disappointed, even as his gaze slips from Ushijima's eyes, slips down—"I want to look at you." He swallows. "I want you to look at me, too." 

Everyone is always looking at Oikawa; Ushijima is always looking at Oikawa. He knows Oikawa knows it.

Then, Ushijima wonders, could it be that Oikawa doesn't want to be looked at—he wants to be _seen_...

Ushijima nods. Looks at Oikawa, until Oikawa turns his head. Ushijima cups his jaw gently, coaxes Oikawa towards him. "Close your eyes, if you have to," Ushijima says. "But let me see you."

Oikawa's mouth opens but he only breathes, and then he nods, open-eyed.

Ushijima kisses him. Rolls Oikawa onto his back and props up beside him so he can watch his hand on Oikawa's body, so he can look at Oikawa's face as he touches him, mapping Oikawa's body, cataloguing every response, every mewl and moan and stuttered, swallowed breath.

When Oikawa touches himself, Ushijima says his name. "I'm going to fuck you now," he says and catches himself before the 'okay?' Oikawa hears it anyhow, answers with a nod. Then, because Ushijima isn't sure, he has to ask, "Have you done this before?"

"It's been a few years, but yeah, there was someone..." Oikawa trails off—and then seems to understand a practicality motivating Ushijima's question. "He was my first and I was his. So, no STDs here." A flashed grin, and Ushijima wonders what it would take to get Oikawa to a place beyond grins, if such a place even exists. "But you, with all your fans—"

"I don't know if I was anyone's first," Ushijima says. "But I don't believe so. In any case, I've always used a condom." He gets up for one now, goes to his personal stash for the polyisoprene ones he prefers over the latex ones provided by the Village, and rummages for the silicone lubricant as well. He takes a moment to check his fingers for cuts he might not have noticed, and finds none.

When he comes back to the bed, he looks at the way Oikawa is looking at him, and pauses. "Are you sure about this?"

Oikawa nods. Ushijima thinks his gaze might flicker down now to the condom, but Oikawa stays focused on Ushijima's face. "Yeah." Oikawa moistens his lips. "Yes."

"All right." Ushijima didn't ask the smile to come to his mouth but it's there anyhow. He keeps it small, soft, because Oikawa's defenses are strong and the last thing Ushijima wants right now is for Oikawa to think this is some sort of joke. 

With his next breath, the smile floats off. "Lie back." 

Oikawa does it. Doesn't need to be asked to spread his legs, and Ushijima kneels between them. He rolls the condom on himself, and only when he glances up and sees how attentively Oikawa is watching him does he realize Oikawa might never have seen anyone do this before, at least not in person. 

The condom is pre-lubricated but Ushijima adds more, watching Oikawa watch him slick up. "Oh god," Oikawa says, slipping the words under his breath. Ushijima isn't sure if he was meant to hear them or not, but before he can ask if Oikawa is still sure about this, Oikawa's lashes flutter and he looks up into Ushijima's eyes. "Oh my god~" His fingertip comes to rest at his mouth, his teeth holding it gently, his jaw moving ever so slightly as he licks. 

Ushijima thinks of Oikawa's teeth holding his cock gently as Oikawa licks, sucks... he doesn't know if Oikawa wants to do that and he doesn't know if he'll have another chance to find out, but anyhow he tips forward, bracing against the mattress as he lowers himself. He's going slowly and Oikawa must understand what he means to do, but Oikawa doesn't move his hand. And so Ushijima's lips brush over his fingers, nudge them aside, all except the one held so carefully between Oikawa's teeth. Ushijima doesn't try to dislodge that one as he kisses Oikawa, and at first he's kissing both Oikawa's mouth and his hand—but then Oikawa's finger slips away, his mouth given over fully to Ushijima.

As they kiss, Oikawa's hand finds Ushijima's hipbone, glides along it. Ushijima breathes into Oikawa's mouth harder than he means to when Oikawa's fingers curl around his cock; even through the polyisoprene condom he can feel the heat and friction of Oikawa's touch, his stroke. Oikawa swallows Ushijima's exhale and laughs lightly into Ushijima's mouth, and Ushijima breathes deep, filling his lungs with that soft laughter.

Then, as Oikawa shifts, Ushijima realizes Oikawa isn't just touching him, he's trying to line Ushijima up. Ushijima breaks the kiss, pushes himself up. "Not yet." Oikawa is still touching his cock and Ushijima closes his eyes, takes a breath in through his nose, does not move his hips to the rhythm of Oikawa's fingers, breathes out through his mouth and opens his eyes again. "You're not ready yet."

"I am." 

Oikawa's openness, the way he's looking at Ushijima right now, sends a hot thrill through Ushijima. As he kisses Oikawa this time, he lowers himself more than before, thrills hotter at Oikawa's gasp as their cocks touch, slide against each other; Ushijima's low moan escapes before he can get it back.

"Let me get you ready." He pushes up and back into a kneel, reaches for the lubricant, holds it up.

Deep thick breath as Oikawa looks at it, understands; deeper thicker breath as he spreads his legs wider. He hooks his hands around his bent knees, pulls them towards his chest.

Ushijima looks at him. Looks at the hole Oikawa is offering him. Looks at Oikawa's cock, the perfection of the curve, the shine of precome at the tip. He looks at the slick trails on Oikawa's lower abs—silicone lubricant from contact with the condom, Ushijima knows, but for a fraction of a moment he allows himself to pretend it's his come, painted directly from his cock onto Oikawa's perfect skin.

He looks at Oikawa. At his face. At the flush there. At the length of Oikawa's lashes. At the eyes they frame. He looks into Oikawa's eyes, and he sees something there that he's seen before, but never as raw as this. Oikawa's eyes are so honest right now...

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Ushijima tells him.

Oikawa starts to laugh, the veil of his grin reaching up to his eyes—but as he looks at Ushijima, the grin and the veil disappear. Oikawa breathes slow and deep as he searches Ushijima's eyes. "I think you mean that," he finally says.

"I do." Of course he does.

Oikawa tugs his knees closer, opening himself more. "Get me ready." Lashes fluttering down, up. Open-eyed: "Please."

That word surges through Ushijima, down to his balls, curls up there. His pelvic muscles start to tighten and he takes a slow, steady breath. Takes another as he uncaps the lubricant, squeezes out a fat dollop onto one fingertip. He watches himself touch his fingertip to Oikawa's hole—and then his gaze shoots up to Oikawa's face at the sharp intake of breath. Oikawa's eyes are closed as he breathes through a shiver. "Sorry," Ushijima says, realizing he didn't warm the lubricant in any way. 

"No." Oikawa's fingers close around Ushijima's wrist as he opens his eyes. "It's okay. I like it like this." His mouth quirks into a half-smile that opens up. "I like the contrast between the cool of the lube, and the heat of your cock." He takes another breath, glances down at Ushijima's cock, up at his face. The grin, which had started to smooth, slants up again. "I'll still feel that even through the condom, right? Just where you're." He glances down again; reaches down and touches his hole, a fingertip on either side, spreading himself open even more. "Entering me."

Ushijima takes a long look. Longer than necessary, except it is necessary to him in this moment. He wants to put his mouth there. To kiss the back of Oikawa's fingers. To let Oikawa feel the heat as Ushijima licks him there, as his tongue goes inside...

"Yes." He swallows. Drags his gaze up over Oikawa's cock, his lower and upper abs, his chest, the smooth line of his throat swelling over his adam's apple, and Ushijima wants to put his mouth there too, a somehow queerer want.

His gaze reaches Oikawa's face, connects with Oikawa's gaze. Ushijima clears his throat. "Yes," he says again. "You'll feel heat."

He doesn't know if it's the power of suggestion getting under his skin, but he feels a rush of heat himself. Oikawa's smile isn't helping him cool down, and Ushijima looks away, his gaze latching onto his own hand. "I'm going in now."

"Yeah."

Ushijima risks a glance at Oikawa's face again, careful not to move his head this time. Oikawa appears to be fixed on Ushijima's hand, and Ushijima returns his own gaze there. Oikawa has both hands hooked under his knees once more, pulling himself open. So open. 

Oikawa takes the first finger without hesitation. Ushijima slides it up inside him, feeling Oikawa relax and contract around him. He withdraws his finger, squeezes more lubricant onto it, pushes inside again, deeper this time, corkscrewing as he goes. He adds a second finger, using both fingertips to push lubricant inside Oikawa, getting Oikawa slippery slick. He slides his fingers in to the base knuckle and Oikawa's deep sighs stutter as Ushijima scissors his fingers, stretching Oikawa even more. 

On the next pass, Ushijima presses against Oikawa's prostate experimentally. Oikawa arches, his head tipping back even more on the pillow. The deepening flush in his cock spreads across his torso, up along the arc of his throat, to his face. He's comfortable with this, Ushijima thinks as he adds a third finger. He's had a fair amount of experience with fingering, either with his someone from high school or maybe with himself. He's more than comfortable, he's fully aroused. Ushijima is sure Oikawa could take a fourth finger, and maybe get off just on that.

Instead he says, "Are you ready for my cock?" He likes seeing Oikawa like this, but also: "When I'm getting fucked," Ushijima says, "it sometimes hurts if I come first and the other person keeps going. So—"

"You." Oikawa takes an audible breath as he looks up from his own cock and Ushijima's hand beyond it. His eyes fix on Ushijima's face. "You get fucked sometimes." There's a kind of surprise in his voice that borders on wonder. His hips rock as much as they can in his position, his hands restricting movement even as they open him up to Ushijima's fingers.

Ushijima nods, thinking Oikawa's words want a response even though they weren't phrased or intoned like a question.

Oikawa's legs shift forward as he lets go, his hands covering his face. His feet are still up, Ushijima's fingers still inside him. He says something but Ushijima only catches his own name, the version of it Oikawa came up with and still calls him. Somehow, with his face in his hands and his legs bent but unsupported, his cock untouched, Oikawa looks more vulnerable than Ushijima has ever seen him. Even more so than when he was holding himself open. 

Want rolls through Ushijima, hotter and deeper than any need he's ever felt.

"Oikawa—" he starts, stops when laughter tangles with a gust of Oikawa's breath. 

Oikawa's smile fades but he's still looking at Ushijima. "Yeah." Oikawa nods. Brings his knees all the way up to his chest again. Quiet inhale, exhale blown slowly out between parted lips. "Fuck me."

Ushijima withdraws his fingers, something uncurling low in his belly and flipping around at the way Oikawa inhales as he does. He wipes his fingers on the bedclothes, locates the lubricant, adds another coat to the condom over his cock. 

Cock in hand he kneels up, lines up the head with Oikawa's open hole, lubricant dripping out. He touches his cockhead to the pucker, rubs slick circles there, letting Oikawa feel his heat, his own eyes closed as he listens past his own heartbeat for Oikawa's silk sighs and softly choked breaths.

He pushes himself inside. Just the head, and then he stops. Oikawa's breathing skips but he doesn't say anything, doesn't squirm away. One of his legs does shift downward but he's breathing again, and Ushijima looks at him: Oikawa's hand is at his mouth, his teeth and tongue toying with his thumb. His lashes are swept down and Ushijima lets his own eyes fall shut as he pushes in more.

He goes slowly, in increments, giving Oikawa time to adjust; going on when Oikawa relaxes around him, pushing in deeper. Slowly, slowly, giving himself time to adjust, too, to Oikawa's snugness and pliancy, to the way he fits around Ushijima. Giving himself time to adjust to Oikawa's heat. Deeper and deeper and slowly deeper.

Oikawa takes all of him.

Ushijima thought Oikawa would be loud, but he's almost silent, except for his breathing—mouth open and eyes closed, his chest expanding with each measured breath. Ushijima starts to say his name, but it feels too formal, in their current circumstances, to call Oikawa by his surname. Still, Oikawa has not given Ushijima permission to use his first name, not even when Ushijima has offered that permission to Oikawa in the past. 

In any case, there's no one else Ushijima could be speaking to, so he forgets about names for now. "Are you doing all right?"

Oikawa nods, reaches down between his legs, touches Ushijima's cock where it's entering him. "Just." His words are made of breath. He lifts one leg more, bending deeper at the knee as he maneuvers his foot up onto Ushijima's shoulder. "Fuck me," Oikawa breathes, opening his eyes, looking into Ushijima's. "Fuck me all the way."

Ushijima isn't exactly sure what those words mean, and he isn't sure Oikawa knows either, but there's a sweetness to the way Oikawa said them— _Oh,_ Ushijima thinks, _maybe this is what sweet nothings are._

His fingers encircle Oikawa's other ankle, and when Oikawa lets out a thicker breath, Ushijima lifts that foot to his other shoulder. 

Then he pushes in. All the way in. Going slow but not stopping or pausing or waiting this time; he pushes, slow, slow, slow~ slow and steady, until he's all the way inside Oikawa.

Ushijima sets up a rhythm, pulling back until only his cockhead is still inside, then pushing in again, still going slow, out~ in~ out~

But Oikawa is not the only one who can read every fingertip signal, and as Oikawa's fingers flutter, Ushijima goes balls-deep again, and stays like that until Oikawa's breath flutters to match his fingers. Ushijima moves his hips backward, just enough to be called movement, then pushes all the way in, filling Oikawa; keeping him full.

"Fuck~" Oikawa's breath flutters. "Fuck~ _yes~_ "

Ushijima fucks Oikawa like that for a while, with rolling stutter-fills, his cock brushing Oikawa's prostate with each one. Ushijima takes advantage of Oikawa's closed eyes to look at his face the way he's always wanted to... 

"Ah," he says, once more forgoing a name, "I'm in charge here, right?" Oikawa's lashes flutter just above his cheekbones, then sweep up as his eyes open. Looking Ushijima in the eye, he nods. "Then." Ushijima takes a breath. "I want you on top."

Oikawa nods. Swallows. Lets out a soft, wordless complaint when Ushijima pulls out so they can reverse their positions. Ushijima lies back and Oikawa straddles him. They reach for Ushijima's cock at almost the same time. Oikawa gets there first and Ushijima yields. Oikawa looks back over his shoulder and Ushijima almost lets his eyes fall shut when he feels his tip touch Oikawa's hole again, but he keeps them open to look at Oikawa looking at his cock.

When he's got Ushijima's cockhead inside him, Oikawa faces forward. Even though he's complied without protest and done this much himself, there's an anxiousness around the edges of his breathing. "I've got you," Ushijima says, hands on Oikawa's hips. "Let me; I've got you."

Oikawa nods and gives himself over to Ushijima's hands, lets Ushijima lower him onto his cock. They're still for a moment, breathing. Looking into one another's eyes and breathing.

Ushijima moistens his lips, even though it's his hands that he'll be using. He secures his hold on Oikawa's hips, helping him find the rhythm as Ushijima starts fucking him full again. 

Oikawa keeps his hands on Ushijima's. At first Ushijima thinks it's for the fuck rhythm, but Oikawa is caressing his fingers—so Ushijima gives them to him: reaches up to traces Oikawa's lips. Oikawa's tongue comes out to flick wetly at Ushijima's fingers and Ushijima lets him, enters his mouth, feels Oikawa's tongue wrapping around his fingers as he suckles.

The fingers of Ushijima's other hand dig into Oikawa's thigh as Ushijima holds him down and thrusts up into him, Oikawa pushing down even more than Ushijima is holding him.

Oikawa takes Ushijima's hand away from his mouth, keeps his own on Ushijima's where it comes to rest on Oikawa's chest. "How are you so." Oikawa's head arches back. "So good," he sighs. "At this."

"I told you: I have a lot of fans." 

Instead of a sharp comeback, Oikawa says, "How~" A quick, deep inhale. A deep, fluttering exhale. "How did I never even hear rumors that you do guys?"

Ushijima doesn't have an answer to that. He's slept with the fans he's slept with, full-well knowing rumors could start. That none ever have is not something he dwells on.

Oikawa opens his eyes as he tips his head forward to look down. His hand briefly touches his stomach. Ushijima catches the flicker of disappointment; when Oikawa looks at him, he must catch the flicker of Ushijima's curiosity because he offers a half-grin and touches his belly again. "Your cock is—I mean, you know it's pretty fucking big, right?" Disproportionately so, Ushijima knows. He nods and Oikawa says, "I thought I might see it..." Another, bigger grin, though still not a full one. 

"I think that's only in hentai," Ushijima says. "But you'd see it if I used my hand." 

Oikawa's eyes widen, he sucks in a breath and blows it out. Reaches for Ushijima's hand, brings it to his face. Rubs his cheek against the palm as Ushijima continues to fuck him, so deep inside Oikawa that he can only use shallow thrusts. "You've done that?"

Ushijima's hand slips down, fingers caressing Oikawa's jaw. He loves Oikawa's voice. Loves his mouth. He traces Oikawa's lower lip with the pad of his thumb, back and forth, goes inside when Oikawa opens for him. He nods. Looks at the swell of his thumb against Oikawa's cheek. "I've seen the." His free hand comes to rest on his stomach as he searches for the word, comes up with one: "Distension that you want." 

Oikawa's mouth comes off him. "Wait." His gaze meets Ushijima's, flicks back down to the hand on Ushijima's stomach, returns to Ushijima's eyes. He holds Ushijima's other hand, the one he's just taken from his mouth, tucks thumb against palm, folds Ushijima's fingers one by one around it. "You've seen it—in yourself?"

Ushijima nods; has to close his eyes as Oikawa convulses around him, tightens his own muscles so he won't come yet. Once he's found the slow small rhythm again, he opens his eyes.

"That's. That's just so..." Oikawa is still holding his hand, looking at it, gazing at it like Ushijima's fingertips are the stars that mark a constellation. "I've been obsessed with your hands for a while now." He's so focused on the hand he's holding, he misses Ushijima's flash of surprise. "But I never thought of this." He looks at Ushijima's face now. "You getting fisted. That's—god, that's so _hot_ ," and he clenches around Ushijima again.

"I can teach you," Ushijima breathes when he can. "How to fist me, if you want."

Oikawa does want that, his throaty moan tells Ushijima even before he says, "Teach me by doing it to me."

Ushijima nods, yeah, he can do that.

They're quiet then as Oikawa, eyes fallen shut once more, lips parted, continues to ride him, snug and perfect around Ushijima's cock.

Ushijima gazes up at him like he's looking into a night sky with a single star visible, shining bright, burning so hot and bright, so beautiful, so fucking beautiful, such beautifully convulsive heat, and—

Bright wet starfall as Oikawa comes, spills out of himself and onto Ushijima.

Oikawa tips forward, Ushijima still inside him, and kisses Ushijima, long, slow, deep; kisses him just the way Ushijima has been fucking him. 

"What do you need to come?"

So many things. It all condenses to one word: "You."

It's nonsense, of course, even if Ushijima means it. Another sweet nothing, maybe; his first one.

He'll have to learn more of them, because Oikawa seems to like this one. He smiles, honest and soft and quick, the smile gone as soon as it's there. "Fuck," Oikawa murmurs; his tone definitely calculated, and of course having the intended effect on Ushijima. He leans forward to kiss Ushijima again, and this time he comes off Ushijima's cock, causing Ushijima to inhale hard and fast just as Oikawa kisses him, so that Ushijima inhales some of Oikawa's breath too. Oikawa pushes up, looks down and grins. "If I hadn't already come..." His grin fades with his words, until he's just looking at Ushijima and Ushijima is looking at him.

Oikawa shifts himself off to lie beside Ushijima and grins anew, continues as if they've been having a conversation: "But I have, and you haven't."

Then he drops the grin, drops the tone. "I want you to come. I want you to come inside me, for real. I want to feel your come on my skin as it drips out of me, slides down my thigh. I want to feel your mouth on me as you lick your own come off my skin."

Ushijima reaches for himself, starts stroking his aching cock through the condom.

"And I'll lick up the come that makes it to the sheets."

Ushijima has never understood the appeal of watching someone lick come off the floor; it's very popular in gay porn, especially the American porn he's watched, but Ushijima just clicks out of the video at that point or skips to the next scene, if he's still going himself.

But now, hearing Oikawa say that, seeing the picture Oikawa has painted in his head—now Ushijima thinks he understands it, getting off on seeing someone so desperate for your come, they'll lick it off whatever surface it's fallen on.

"We can do that." Ushijima closes his eyes, strokes himself faster through the condom. Arches, feet flat to the mattress, pushing himself up for greater friction against his fingertips. "I'll get tested, and we can do that."

"Say it." Oikawa's face is so close, Ushijima can feel his breath. He doesn't open his eyes but he feels it when Oikawa moves back—just enough so that Ushijima is sure Oikawa is looking at his face. Ushijima had been torn between watching Oikawa's beautiful face and his beautiful cock when Oikawa came, but Oikawa doesn't seem to have any such hesitation. "Say it," Oikawa says again, his tone somehow begging and commanding at once.

"I'll come inside you," Ushijima says when he can breathe again, when he can speak. "Fill you with my come, lick the spill off of you." He's just repeating Oikawa's words back to him, and he doesn't know if that's enough for Oikawa, but he doesn't know what else to do; Oikawa is making him feel so helpless right now—

He opens his eyes, finds Oikawa's gaze, holds it. "I'll fuck you until we're both helpless. Until we can't do anything but come. Until we're covered in each other's come."

Oikawa takes a deep breath, but not until his mouth is covering Ushijima's. Breathing not kissing, and Oikawa is so human against his mouth. Human, not a star, but Ushijima read somewhere that the human body is made of molecules from the big bang—in effect, stardust.

He's breathing Oikawa's stardust, and Oikawa is breathing his.

As Oikawa's stardust breath fills him, Ushijima spills out of himself.

The shared, stardusted breathing lasts a moment longer before Oikawa shifts back. "Okay?"

More than, but Ushijima only nods. He gets up, takes off the condom and ties it off, disposes of it. He goes to his towels, tosses one to Oikawa, uses another on himself. 

Oikawa looks at the towel that has landed near his hand, then at Ushijima as he lies back. Not for the first time tonight, Ushijima can't tell if it's a command or a request, but anyhow he lies back down next to Oikawa and cleans him up.

Their kiss is unurgent, so too their touches. Everything is slowed, a different kind of slow from slow-fucking. 

Ushijima goes over onto his back when Oikawa nudges him. Oikawa leans in close and closer, moves back to sit up. "I don't understand your face," he says. Ushijima is sure his face is an open book to Oikawa. He doesn't say anything as Oikawa continues to look at him. "You're not pretty," Oikawa says like he's coming to a decision. "But you're beautiful. You're so, so beautiful."

Ushijima doesn't know what to say. Even so he can't look away, and Oikawa is the one to break the gaze.

"Your cock on the other hand." Oikawa starts caressing Ushijima's soft cock, and Ushijima thinks it's a distraction, Oikawa's defenses up. But then Oikawa sighs. "Your cock is definitely pretty."

Ushijima shakes his head. "Yours is prettier."

"That doesn't mean yours isn't pretty," Oikawa says.

"Yours is perfectly proportionate."

Ushijima doesn't say the other half of the equation but Oikawa gets there himself. "Ushiwaka's cock is disproportionate." He puts his head in his hands, laughter spilling out through the cracks between his fingers.

When he drops his hands and looks up again, Ushijima says, "I didn't say that to make you laugh."

"I know." Oikawa grins.

"But your laughter makes me happy."

Oikawa looks at him, grin not fading but softening. His lashes flutter though his eyes don't fully close in the blink. "I know," he says, words softer than his smile. He doesn't look away and Ushijima allows himself to bask in the gaze...

"When we were fucking," Ushijima says, "I said something I don't think you heard."

"I heard you," Oikawa says. "You're not going to fuck anyone else but me for the next year, and then when all your tests come back negative and we don't need condoms anymore, you're not going to fuck anyone else but me for the year after that."

Ushijima looks at him. Just looks at him and knows he should say something but he doesn't know what. Fortunately Oikawa is merciful in the moment, filling Ushijima's words-empty mouth with his breath, his tongue.

Oikawa sits up when they part. He tilts his head as he looks at Ushijima. A smile slips into place. "Look at you." Ushijima does, glancing down his body, seeing on his skin the evidence of the heat Oikawa's words lit in him. "Whoever would have thought Ushiwaka likes that kind of talk so much." The smile disappears with Oikawa's swallow. "You're—that's crazy hot." A new smile flashes, fades. Oikawa moistens his lips. "Can I try getting you off only with words sometime?"

"Yes." Ushijima thinks Oikawa means it, and answers in kind. "It's not a condition, but I'd like to try getting you off with touch. By touching you face and throat, maybe your collarbone, maybe your spine."

"Yeah." Heat rides the gaze between them. "Fuck yeah."

"Do you want me to try right now?" Ushijima asks.

Oikawa stretches and flops back against the pillows. "Yes. After you pick us up some breakfast. Then we can spend all day in bed."

A fair point: sustenance and hydration are important. Ushijima sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. "All right." He gets to his feet.

"To ensure you come back," Oikawa says, looking at the ceiling, "I'll have to keep something of yours here."

It's Ushijima's room, so where else would he go—but Oikawa sounds like he's in a playful mood and Ushijima has rarely seen him like this, so he doesn't point that out. 

He bends to pick up his tracksuit trousers, but somehow Oikawa is quicker, moving for them before Ushijima realized he was moving at all. Oikawa brandishes the trousers with a grin that Ushijima definitely recognizes as his triumphant one. 

Ushijima has other things he could wear out, of course—but, hoping he has interpreted the spirit of this correctly, he picks up Oikawa's tracksuit trousers. He doesn't say anything as he puts them on, and Oikawa doesn't either. The fit is close but not perfect, stretching tight across his hips, the hem sitting just above his ankles. He glances up:

Oikawa is beaming as he looks at Ushijima.

"Speaking of food," Ushijima says. He picks up a t-shirt. "Would you like to have dinner with my father when he's here?" He pulls on the shirt, his own by the fit of it. 

Oikawa hasn't said anything. Ushijima thought he might not. He turns to say he'll be right back, and stops when he sees how strangely Oikawa is looking at him. Ushijima means to tell Oikawa he doesn't have to accept, even though he's never known Oikawa to accept invitations out of obligation, at least not from him. 

But what he hears himself say is, "Do you not want to meet him?"

"Actually." The strange expression is pushed off Oikawa's face by a slow-dawning grin. "I can't say I'm not curious."

Ushijima dares to return the grin before going to the door and putting on his trainers.

"Hey, Ushiwa—" Oikawa cuts himself off. Takes a breath, lets it out. "Wakatoshi," he says, and a shy thrill slips into Ushijima's bloodstream. "Are you sure about this?" 

Ushijima's brow arches. "About going to get breakfast for us?" 

He doesn't know how to interpret the way Oikawa looks at him, isn't at all sure when Oikawa glances off and laughs under his breath.

But the way Oikawa looks at him when he looks back again—the way Oikawa is smiling at him right now makes Ushijima smile even before Oikawa says, "Yeah. That."

"Of course." Ushijima checks his pockets for his ID for the commissary, finding Oikawa's instead. "Ah—" he starts, but Oikawa is already tossing him the ID he's fished out of Ushijima's tracksuit trousers. "Thank you," he says as he catches it. "I'll be back soon."

With a wordless sound that Ushijima takes for agreement, Oikawa stretches out on Ushijima's bed, naked, hands tucked behind his head.

The sun has come up, the Village a low hum of activity, athletes still in the Games focused on the day ahead as they go about the early morning. 

Ushijima, too, focuses on the day ahead.


End file.
